


Of Composition

by liftedandgifted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mention of rimming, Poetry, Underage Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6909601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liftedandgifted/pseuds/liftedandgifted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam writes poetry about his love and lust for his big brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Composition

**Author's Note:**

> Also [@mellowwincest](http://mellowwincest.tumblr.com/post/139648620816/of-composition)

Sam’s passionate freshman English teacher gets him started. She shows him poetry, truly beautiful works with words that weave and dance the most graceful of pictures through his mind. It’s a new world that’s introduced to him – a written one. His pencil can’t fly fast enough along the plain college-ruled paper, words drawn from the heart in his chest, like the ink is his blood carved from veins. For once, he feels beautiful in his sinful glory, the diction of his words coming from a dark hidden place where secrets are kept.

-

_Eyes of grass on a wet spring day_

_flutter in an ecstasy born of filth._

_Body like silken fibrils glistening in sunlight_

_writhes about beneath a vibrant tongue,_

_pink and wanton in its mission,_

_devouring wholly_

_the length of hard musky muscle._

_Pleasure burns deep within_

_the bellies of those wrought with_

_passion, built on a thousand promises._

_Love is eternal and bright_

_shared between two halves of a whole._

Sam shivers, rock hard and trembling as he writes his desperate fantasies. He titles the work after his favorite Death Cab song and tucks it away.

From then on, if he’s not with Dean, he’s writing about him. He writes poems on the way he imagines Dean’s soul would look if it were corporeal, on the sweat that he imagines would pool in his brother’s clavicle as he let Sam work his tongue in and out of Dean’s hole. He writes about the way his brother’s cock would feel as their bodies became one, filling an ache deep within Sam’s belly. Words and words pour from a suppressed and depraved need born from years and years of bed sharing and hand-me-down boxers, of night time comforts and the backseat of a steel horse. Sam can’t help the love he has for his brother, the dirty raw feel of his bones beneath his skin. It’s something that has always been there, lurking under the surface. Something surreptitious and obscure, until one day it rose and hasn’t returned since.


End file.
